


Do You Know What You Started?

by Linsky



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, Genderswap, Getting Together, Grinding, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Rule 63, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linsky/pseuds/Linsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny gets turned into a girl, and Patrick doesn’t recognize him. Jonny really shouldn’t take advantage of this.</p><p>He really, <i>really</i> shouldn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Know What You Started?

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. It was Sunday evening; I was supposed to be putting the finishing touches on my wolf!Patrick story (which is still happening very soon!!); and somehow almost nine thousand words of this appeared on the page. I can only plead demonic possession.
> 
> Warning for a few messed-up ideas about physical size. Jonny doesn’t like having a body that’s so much smaller than his own. He also doesn’t like his female genitalia, although he (ahem) comes around.
> 
> Eta 11/24/17: Just added dubcon tag at Sail_On's suggestion. I hadn't noticed at the time -- but yes, this is definitely dubcon!
> 
> (Title from Rihanna’s “Please Don’t Stop the Music.”)

Jonny wakes up from a really good dream. He doesn’t remember the details, but it’s the kind that’s all warm colors and flushed skin and sliding heat. And based on the throbbing between his legs, it has him about three good strokes from coming.

He reaches down to palm his dick. Except it’s not there.

“What the fuck?” he says, and his voice comes out way higher than it should.

He scrambles out of bed, trips over feet that are way smaller than they should be, and runs for the mirror. The face he sees when he gets there…

Well. If Jonny didn’t know it was a mirror, he would have no idea who he was looking at.

It’s not like there’s nothing familiar. His coloring is the same. His eyes are maybe sort of the same shape, when he stares at them long enough. But that’s where it ends. His chin is pointy instead of round, giving him a heart-shaped face even Pat would be jealous of, and his cheekbones are more delicate and his nose tiny and button-y. He has these little pink lips that look nothing like his normal mouth. His hair is long and falls down across his shoulders and the tops of his breasts.

His _breasts._

“Oh fuck,” he says in his new girl voice, and staggers backwards to the bed.

***

Five minutes later he’s scrolling frantically on his phone. He’s already texted Q—and if there was ever a time an erroneous stomach bug excuse was appropriate, it’s today—and now he just needs to find out how to undo this. Preferably before tomorrow’s game.

The internet tells him to—well, the internet tells him to do a lot of things, most of which Jonny doesn’t think are medically relevant so much as—well. The internet is a messed-up place. It’s a little bit reassuring to know that this is a common enough thing that there are people who’ve made a fetish of it, but only a little bit.

He finally finds a couple of sites that sounds like they know what they’re talking about, though, and he has to concede that maybe it isn’t all fetishizing. Because these sites are telling him that the way to get out of this is to have an orgasm.

Jonny gives the websites some serious side-eye for a couple of minutes, but they’re written in medical jargon and don’t seem to be pranking him. And, well, even if they are what’s the worst that can happen? He has an orgasm. That’s probably what he’d be doing this morning anyway.

He lifts his hand to go for his dick again with a mind to getting out of this hell before he realizes, once again, that it’s not that simple.

There’s no good reason for him to freeze up. It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do with a pussy. He’s had girlfriends, okay. He’s hooked up. It’s just…not what he’s been doing, lately. Not since he realized that maybe gay porn isn’t what most guys watch to get off, and that maybe fantasizing about his teammates does actually mean something.

But, okay, whatever. He knows what to do, is the point. And the fact that it’s his own pussy should only make it easier.

It doesn’t. It only makes it weirder. Jonny thinks about sticking his fingers there and has an actual full-body shudder. It just…it shouldn’t be there, okay? This is not what his body is supposed to be shaped like.

Okay, so, new plan. Maybe he won’t start by sticking his fingers in his pussy. Maybe he’ll get himself turned on first.

He’s calling up the gay porn on his iPad before he even thinks about it. Probably because he’s been doing that a lot lately, what with the thing where he doesn’t want to hook up with women and every bar in Chicago contains someone who recognizes his face. Kind of drives a guy to be on good terms with his friendly internet porn sites.

It’s not going to do him much good now, though. He has a woman’s body. Why would a woman’s body be into two guys doing it?

Except—there are two guys on the screen doing it right now, and his female body seems to be _very_ into it. Jonny isn’t sure if it’s because that’s a thing girls like (maybe it’s like guys and lesbian porn? Though he never got that, either), or if it’s because his sexuality hasn’t changed. But he knows that watching the two guys on the screen roll together is sending a tingle through his newly configured groin.

He holds the iPad and keeps his free hand safely away from his pussy and watches as the one guy eats the other out. The guy on the bottom is really vocal about it, gasping and groaning and pushing into it, and that’s really doing it for Jonny. His body is reacting, like it normally would—but the ways he’s reacting are different. Instead of his dick hardening, his cunt is sort of—clenching. Little muscle contractions that send tiny shivers up through his stomach. His hips are rolling on the bed without him consciously directing them.

Okay, so this is on the right track. By the time the first guy gets his dick in the other’s ass, Jonny’s gasping a little, and there’s a sort of pulsing feeling in his clit. Like it really, really wants to be touched.

He holds off, but then the guy getting fucked on screen arches his back into it and moans. Jonny can’t help it—he presses down on his clit, and he groans himself as a wave of pleasure washes over his body.

Fuck, that’s good. He does it a few more times, to the rhythm of the thrusts on the screen, and then he slides his fingers forward towards his opening. He’s—wow, really wet. He remembers sliding his fingers through the wetness of a pussy back when he hooked up with women and not really feeling much about it, but right now it feels amazing. He slides a finger in and rubs it against the walls of his cunt while the heel of his hand grinds down on his clit.

God. He shouldn’t have worried about not liking this. He watches the guys on screen fuck, muscles bunching and breath stuttering and dicks drooling precome, and he slides his fingers over himself and imagines himself in the scene. Doesn’t think too hard about it; just lets himself get lost in the image of being the one getting fucked. Hips thrusting up to get more of the pressure that feels so amazing on his clit.

He closes his eyes and gives himself over to the image. A guy over him, long cock sliding in—into his cunt, into his ass, it doesn’t matter to him right now. But the way the guy is pounding in, that matters. The way the guy is panting, biting at Jonny’s neck, using his strong shoulders and arms to keep himself up as his soft red mouth drops open in surrender—

Fuck, no, he is _not_ going to picture Kaner right now.

Jonny takes his hand off his clit. He’s still breathing hard, still slick, but he’s not going to come right now. Not while he’s thinking of Patrick.

That’s been…a growing problem over the past year. Maybe over the past seven years, if Jonny’s honest with himself. But it only started feeling like a problem in the past year or so. Since Jonny realized that his fantasies could mean something.

He is absolutely not going down that road. Falling for a teammate is a recipe for all kinds of torture. He loves playing with Kaner, loves being the public face of the Hawks together, can’t imagine the thought of losing him. And so he has rules. One of which is that he is not going to come with Patrick’s face before his eyes.

He gives himself a minute or so, enough to let himself think of someone else (it might be a naked Matt Bomer, or it might not; he’ll never tell.) Then he gets his hand back on himself and starts rocking into it.

It takes no time at all for him to get back into it. The dude above him is fucking him again (Hi, Matt), and Jonny spreads his slick around his clit and presses down. He can feel something building—pleasure in the tops of his thighs, in the pit of his stomach—rushing towards him.

It crashes through him in a rush that makes him gasp and throw his head. His hips work furiously, cunt clenching and clit throbbing hard.

He’s right in the middle of it, the pleasure still dragging him under, when he flashes to an image of Pat arching up over him. His face is screwed up, and he’s coming, cock pumping Jonny full of come. Jonny shouts and thrusts up into his hand as everything suddenly gets a little slicker, a little hotter.

Goddammit.

It’s hard to be too mad, though, when his orgasm feels that good. It fades away at last, leaving his body tingling and his clit almost too sensitive to touch. Jonny takes his hand away from his clit and stretches—and then notices that he’s still a girl.

God _dammit._

***

Once the afterglow has faded a bit, Jonny goes back to the damn websites with the orgasm advice. They tell him a bunch of medical crap, but if he’s reading one particular paragraph on WebMD right, it basically boils down to: context matters for the orgasm, and some people need to have one with a partner.

Jonny snorts. Like he can find a partner for an orgasm right now. He hasn’t been able to pick up in months, too afraid to be recognized hitting on guys in—

Oh. Right.

A slow grin spreads over his face. This might not be so bad after all.

***

Of course, it’s not that easy. For one thing, he has no clothes.

Like, literally none. Well—okay, that’s not true, he has clothes, but he doesn’t have any clothes that will fit him right now, and that’s the part that matters.

Whatever. He’s a millionaire. He can buy an outfit that will get him laid.

The problem is, in order to go clothes shopping, you pretty much need to leave the house, and…see problem A, above.

It’s not like his clothes are just a little wrong, either. Jonny is tiny right now. Like, he’s sort of horrified by how tiny he is. He can’t be more than five four, maybe five five, and vast areas of his body are just missing: the caps of muscle on his shoulders, the thickness of his upper arms, the solidity of what used to be his abs. His waist dips in to become this tiny little thing, and his thighs could probably both fit into one of his normal thighs with room to spare. Sure, he has boobs now, but that hardly seems like a fair trade.

He looks at himself naked in the mirror and tries to imagine what would happen to him on the ice. God. It would be a bloodbath.

Seeing as none of his pants or shorts will actually stay on his body, it takes him like forty-five minutes to get dressed. In the end he only pulls it off because Pat’s sister left behind a pair of leggings last time she was in town. Jonny has no idea how the Kane family manages to scatter their possessions all over creation, but at the moment, he’s just grateful. In the leggings and an old t-shirt with a windbreaker on top, he looks almost like a normal human.

The less said about his footwear, the better.

***

A simple shopping trip, he thinks. Done in an hour or so, he thinks.

Turns out Jonny did not accurately anticipate the experience that is shopping as a woman.

It’s not like he’s never been in a women’s clothing store before. He’s had girlfriends, and before that, his mom used to drag him to the mall back in Winnipeg. But he’s never had to pay attention before.

There are so many pieces you need. Shirts. Pants. Bras. Panties. He doesn't know what size he is in anything. And what the hell even is a camisole?

When he leaves the mall at five p.m., it’s with three huge bags from three different clothing stores and another tiny bag with over a hundred dollars’ worth of cosmetics in it. It’s probably more than he needs, but Jonny believes in being prepared. And, well, the women at Sephora were really persuasive.

At least he’s wearing shoes that actually fit now.

He still has at least four hours before it’s reasonable to show up at any club, but he’s not sure how long it will take him to get all that stuff on his face, so he gets ready right away and ends up sitting around in way too much makeup and the sparkly shirt that the middle-aged woman at the gap warned him would give men the wrong idea. Jonny’s pretty sure he wants to give men the wrong idea. In fact, he wants to give them the wrong idea right now, and why is the evening so fucking long?

He makes himself an overly elaborate vegetable thing for dinner and cleans some stuff that probably doesn’t need to be cleaned and spends a while responding to stupid email, and it’s still barely a reasonable hour when he makes it into the club. He’s picked one that the team doesn’t go to very often—he doesn’t need to run into anyone tonight—and it’s like nine-thirty on a Thursday night, so it’s not very crowded. But it’s enough.

Still, Jonny feels kind of exposed when he walks in. He sets his jaw and goes to the bar to order a beer.

“ID?” the bartender asks, and Jonny panics.

The _oh, fuck_ must show on his face, because the bartender laughs. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Jonny says. His face is definitely burning. He didn’t even think about this problem. “Birthday April 29, 1988.”

The guy purses his lips in Jonny’s direction. “I guess that’s good enough.” He pulls out a glass, flips it, and opens a tap. “Remember your ID next time, okay? I’d hate for you to run into someone who’s not as understanding as I am,” he adds with a grin, and Jonny realizes that the guy is flirting with him.

If he hadn’t already been blushing, he would be now. He stammers something, maybe a thanks, and leaves a five-dollar tip when the guy slides the beer across to him.

It’s nothing he should be embarrassed about. That’s what he’s here for, after all: getting guys to flirt with him. But he feels like his body is at awkward angles as he leans against the bar to drink his beer.

How do girls usually stand at bars, when guys approach them? Jonny tries to replicate what he’s seen: open stance, head a little tilted, face nonthreatening. The sparkly top definitely shows off what he has going on in the chest area, and he tries to angle that out and ends up feeling like he’s going to throw his back out.

Probably better to be relaxed. He reins it in a little. It must work, no matter what the Blackhawks media people like to tell him about his inability to act, because a guy comes up to him before too long. He’s tallish with spiky black hair. “Come here often?” he says.

“Really? That’s your line?” Jonny snarks, and then freezes in horror at himself.

The guy just laughs, though. “It…was going to be. I’m Abe.”

“J-oanna,” Jonny says. “I’m Joanna.”

Abe has an okay handshake. Jonny’s heart is beating fast just to be doing this, meeting a guy in a club. Everyone can see them. Maybe even some people are looking, and it doesn’t matter, because they can’t tell who he is.

“So, do you want to dance?” the guy asks, and Jonny does.

Abe takes his hand and leads him to the dance floor, and no one notices. Just two people about to dance. Nothing to see here. And for the first time ever, Jonny starts dancing with a guy.

It’s…not great. Abe puts his hands on Jonny’s waist, which is fine, but then he stands too close, breathing on Jonny’s neck. Jonny expected to like that, but it makes his stomach twist unpleasantly. He turns around so that at least he’ll have some breathing space, but that makes Abe crowd in and start rubbing circles on his hips in a way that makes Jonny’s skin crawl.

It just feels like way too much, way too soon. It’s overwhelming in a way he never experienced when he was dancing with girls. Jonny said yes to the dance, though, and he doesn’t want to be rude. He grits his teeth and goes with it.

The song takes way too long to end. “Thanks for the dance,” Jonny says over the music as the next one starts up. “I’m going to get another drink.” He escapes before Abe can offer to buy it for him.

Fuck. He is interested in men, isn’t it he?

Probably it’s just that Abe was the wrong guy. Maybe Jonny’s mistake was waiting for someone to come to him—maybe he needs to find someone he’s actively attracted to and approach them first.

He spends a couple of minutes looking around the club before settling on a guy standing farther down the bar as the most likely prospect. He’s talking to a couple of people, a guy and a girl, but he’s angled out toward the room like maybe he wouldn’t object to some additional company. And he’s pretty hot. Good smile and great jawline, not to mention this really nice set of shoulders that makes Jonny think of—oh, what the _fuck._

The door to the club just opened, and Kaner and the rookies are walking in.

Jonny almost ducks under the bar. He does flinch a little, before he remembers that there’s no way they’ll recognize him. Hell, _he_ can barely recognize himself like this. He’s totally safe.

That doesn’t stop his eyes going to the group of them like a startled deer’s. Kaner’s with Shawzy and Saader and Bollig, who, okay, aren’t technically rookies anymore, but that’s still how Jonny thinks of them, particularly when they’re following Kaner around. The four of them seem like they might already be a little tipsy as they come in, all jostling against each other.

Jonny scowls. They have a game the next day. What are they thinking?

The four of them snag an empty booth not far from Jonny. He watches as Shawzy says something and Kaner tips his head back and laughs, long line of his throat glinting in the low light.

Maybe Jonny should just leave. There are plenty of other clubs. But—he shouldn’t have a problem with this. They won’t recognize him, and there’s no reason they should get in the way of his plans here. All he needs to do is forget about them and approach the guy with the excellent shoulders who’s standing down the bar and—and stop staring at the way the alcohol has made Kaner’s lips go a little softer than usual as they curve into a smile.

He’s about to. He’s about to turn away. It’s just that he never gets a chance to stare at Kaner without Kaner looking back, and—oh fuck, oh fuck, Kaner _is_ looking back.

Jonny can see the moment Kaner’s eyes catch on him. The smile slides back onto his lips, wider this time. It’s not for Jonny—Kaner would never look at Jonny like that if he knew it was him—but it’s Jonny who receives it, and it makes him flush with heat down to his toes.

It goes on for maybe two beats, and then Jonny breaks it and makes himself turn away. There’s a guy he’s supposed to be approaching. Someone who most decidedly isn’t Kaner but who’ll still feel better than Abe did under his hands.

He really wants it now: wants to feel another body sliding against his. Hungry in a way he wasn’t when he went to dance with Abe. He starts making his way toward the guy.

“Buy you a drink?” someone says.

Jonny spins around, and fucking hell, it’s Kaner. “What the fuck?” he asks.

Kaner’s eyebrows go practically up to his hairline, which is quite the feat these days. “Wrong line?”

“Oh—no.” Jonny squirms. Damn it, he can’t give himself away. “It’s just—didn’t you just come in like two seconds ago?”

Kaner’s smirk deepens. “Watching that, were you?”

Fuck. “Only because you guys stampeded in here like a herd of buffalo,” he says.

Patrick tips his head back and laughs, and Jonny’s stomach flutters, and _fuck._ His life is such a disaster.

“Maybe I was in a hurry to meet you,” Patrick says with a leer, and the tip of his tongue pokes out between his teeth, and Jonny can’t help but roll his eyes at him.

“Work fast, don’t you?” he asks.

“If you want me to,” Patrick says, and it’s such an awful line that it should absolutely not be working on Jonny, except that it is. “I’m Patrick.”

“Joanna,” he says, and maybe he leaves his hand in Patrick’s a little too long, but…he’s a little distracted by how much taller Patrick is than him at the moment. Jonny doesn’t think of Patrick as small, usually—can’t, with all the muscle the guy’s put on over the past few years—but right now, he seems massive. Like he could pin Jonny to the bed and just—

“You sure about that drink?” Patrick asks, and Jonny’s not sure what’s showing on his face, but Patrick sounds kind of breathy about it.

“Maybe one,” he says grudgingly. It’s just a drink. He can handle a drink.

Except Patrick comes back with something horrible and pink and fruity and, “Okay, now I’m regretting it,” Jonny says.

Patrick looks a little hurt. “You haven’t even tried it.”

Jonny gives him his best unimpressed look, which probably doesn’t work as well with his girl face, but whatever. He does take a sip, though, and— “That’s it, I’m taking your beer.”

“There’s no way it’s that bad,” Patrick says. He swaps his beer and Jonny’s horrific concoction so he can take a sip. He valiantly keeps a straight face for several seconds before he lets his nose crumple in disgust. “Okay, so maybe it’s not the best.”

“Does this usually work on girls?” Jonny asks.

“Well, yeah,” Patrick says.

“They’re just being nice,” Jonny says.

Patrick looks outraged. “They are not!”

Jonny snorts, because—really, Patrick? “Oh, come on. They’re out at a club, talking to this hot guy who offered them a drink. There’s no way they’d make it that far into a conversation with you if they didn’t want in your pants, and so when you come back with this bubblegum nightmare—”

Patrick’s smirking hard. “You think I’m hot?”

Jonny feels himself flush from his collarbone to the roots of his hair. “Um.”

Patrick slides his hand over Jonny’s and takes the beer away. “Wanna dance?” he asks, leaning in close, breath hot on the side of Jonny’s face.

Jonny shouldn’t. He absolutely shouldn’t, for so many reasons he can’t even count them. But he’s listing toward Patrick, dizzy on his proximity, and Patrick’s fingers are still resting on his. He finds himself thinking about how strong those hands are, how deft with a stick, how they might feel on his body. “Yeah,” he breathes.

Patrick’s fingers slide along his as he takes Jonny’s hand and leads him to the floor. It doesn’t feel like it did with Abe: that was all about how other people might see them, the thrill of what Jonny was getting away with. Now he can’t think about anything but Patrick. How it will feel when Patrick’s pressed against him.

Jonny slots himself in with his back against Patrick’s front. That will be easier, he thinks—he won’t have to deal with Patrick’s face near his, will be able to keep it more detached. But right away, he’s so conscious of Patrick’s body against his. Patrick isn’t smothering him: light contact only, his hands on Jonny’s hips, the brush of the top of his thighs against Jonny’s ass, but those whispers of contact make Jonny’s nerves light up and want more. He puts his hands on Patrick’s, moving them from his hips to his stomach.

Patrick takes that for the invitation it is and moves in a little closer. They’re moving in rhythm to the music, Patrick’s fingers pressing in a little and Jonny’s stomach leaping under the touch. It’s amazing how that fairly minor contact is sending a tingle all through Jonny’s lower body. The arousal is more diffuse than it is when he’s in his normal body, but it’s all the more dizzying for it.

Patrick leans in and presses his nose to Jonny’s neck, and Jonny tilts his head back against Patrick’s shoulder to give him more room to work with. Patrick switches to lips, dragging and catching and giving him just the slightest flicker of tongue. Jonny groans and slides his hand up into Patrick’s hair and holds his head there.

It’s still pretty innocent: Patrick’s hands on his stomach, his lips on his neck. But it’s making Jonny breathe like he’s just gotten off a double shift, and he doesn’t feel innocent. He moves his hands back to grip Patrick’s hips, and Patrick’s gasp sends something hot and fiery down through Jonny’s gut.

Patrick slides his hands up under the hem Jonny’s shirt, and Jonny shivers at the skin on skin. The grinding gets, well, grindier: Patrick’s groin is snug against Jonny’s ass, and there’s a bit of a hard bulge that definitely wasn’t there before.

Fuck. Just that hint of a hardening cock against him makes Jonny’s cunt clench down and everything get kind of soft and melty down there. He can feel that he’s getting wet, just from Patrick’s body all around him and his lips and hands on Jonny’s skin. Slick moisture moving between his labia as they grind.

Jonny squeezes Patrick’s hips, gets him moving harder. He’s feeling a little desperate now, chasing the swelling hunger in his gut. He takes one of Patrick’s hands out from under his shirt and moves it up to cup one of his breasts. Patrick tweaks a nipple through the fabric, and Jonny _mewls._ His cunt clenches rhythmically as Patrick grinds against him, and he can feel himself soaking through the thin fabric of his new panties.

This…is going too far. Jonny knows it, but he doesn’t want to stop. It feels too amazing to have Patrick moving against him like this. It occurs to him that this might be the only time he gets to have this, and if so—why not? Why not let himself have this, just once?

There are probably reasons, but he lets himself forget them as Patrick’s cock grinds against his ass. “God, you feel so good,” Patrick murmurs in his ear.

Jonny turns around in his grip, and maybe the motion is too sudden, because Patrick backs off right away, giving him space. Jonny doesn’t want it, though: he presses up against Patrick’s front and rolls his hips against the hardness he can feel there. It presses just exactly right between Jonny’s legs and sends sparks over his vision.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes.

His lips are so close. Jonny wants to taste them, but he has a feeling that once he starts that he won’t be able to stop. “Take me somewhere?” he says into Patrick’s ear.

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick says.

They’re out the door in about two minutes, Patrick waving a jaunty goodbye at the smirking rookies. Jonny carefully doesn’t look.

It’s hard to keep his hands to himself in the car. He doesn’t try that hard, really: he spreads his fingers over Patrick’s thigh and lets them inch up toward the bulge he can see in his jeans. Patrick’s breathing hard, head tipped back. He gets a hand in Jonny’s hair—one good thing about long hair, right there—and leans close and licks a stripe up his ear. “The things I want to do to you,” he whispers.

Jonny shudders. He can’t quite believe this is happening, but Patrick’s cock is hot and hard and real as he runs a hand over it through the fabric of his jeans. Patrick gasps and bites down on his earlobe.

They’re a mess as they get out of the cab. They’re at Patrick’s building, of course, because Jonny can’t very well take Patrick back to his. Jonny has to keep himself from going ahead, pretend like he hasn’t walked this route a thousand times. It’s hard to focus on pretending when he’s running his hands over Patrick’s ass in the elevator.

God. That ass. He’s going to get to touch it.

Patrick unlocks the door, and the familiarity of the apartment socks Jonny in the chest.

It’s not like the whole building isn’t familiar, but it’s different inside Patrick’s space. There’s the couch where Jonny’s sat and played countless hours of video games. There’s the spot where the coat hook fell off the wall that time Shawzy tried to dangle from it. There’s the kitchen where Patrick dropped a glass of milk last week and he and Jonny spent twenty minutes hopping around on tiptoes to avoid shards of glass and arguing over whether Patrick should own a Swiffer.

Jonny looks back at Pat, hesitating for the first time in a while, and Pat strips off his shirt.

Jonny swallows. God, Pat’s shoulders. He’s seen his bare chest so many times, but never while Patrick’s been looking at him like this. Like he wants Jonny’s hands all over him. That should probably make him feel worse—does, one on level—but it mostly makes him hungry to touch. Hungry to give Patrick what he obviously wants.

He takes a step closer and slides his hands up Patrick’s chest: abs, pecs, hard nubs of nipples, strong shoulders where the muscles ripple. Patrick gets his hand on Jonny’s chin and tilts him up and takes his mouth.

Jonny’s mouth fills with saliva the instant Patrick’s lips touch his. He doesn’t let Patrick keep it gentle—opens up right away, slips his tongue between Patrick’s lips, and licks in greedily. Patrick goes with it quickly: opens his mouth against Jonny’s and gets his hands under Jonny’s ass to lift him up. Maybe Jonny would rather be in his own body to be doing this, but it still feels pretty great, how easily Patrick can lift him. Patrick lines Jonny’s cunt up with his dick through their clothes, and Jonny moans and rolls his hips against him.

“Bedroom?” Patrick asks, and Jonny sort of nods, but he’s mostly focused on working his way back into Patrick’s mouth and rocking onto his dick.

They both lose track of things a little, there: pressed up against the wall of the foyer, making out hungrily and grinding together with little twitches of their hips. Patrick’s cock is positioned so that it keeps pressing against Jonny’s clit, not hard enough to be satisfying but hard enough to have him panting and going a little crazy. “Want you,” he manages to get out between kisses, because, God, _Patrick._ He’s wanted him for so long. Just letting himself admit it feels like shrugging off a set of too-tight clothing.

Patrick devours his mouth and maneuvers them to the hallway at the same time, letting Jonny down so he can walk on his own. “On his own” is approximate, though, since neither of them is really willing to stop rubbing against each other long enough to take independent steps.

They get there, though. They get there, and Patrick pulls off Jonny’s shirt and works the clasp on the black lacy bra he bought today and frees his boobs. It feels weird to have Patrick so clearly admiring a body part that isn’t really Jonny’s, but once Patrick gets his hands on them Jonny forgets to care. He’s really good at this—Jonny should have known he would be, from his skill with his hands in general—and he cups with just the right gentleness and tweaks the nipples hard enough to have Jonny’s clit twitching.

“Fuck, need you to touch me,” he grates out, and Patrick pulls down the skinny jeans Jonny bought at the Gap and presses his hand against the wetness of his panties.

Someone else’s touch there feels way better than Jonny’s own. He pushes into it, grinding back and forth and panting, and Patrick captures his mouth again. They make out some more, standing in the middle of Patrick’s bedroom, until Jonny gets his hands in Patrick’s hair and whines, “Patrick,” and he strips Jonny of his panties and pushes him back onto the bed.

Seeing Patrick looming above him is kind of amazing. Jonny wants him on top of him, but Patrick doesn’t quite go there: he slides down a bit instead, puts his head between Jonny’s legs, and licks.

Jonny _screams._ There’s no other word for it: he’s never felt anything like this before. Blowjobs from girls have been good, but Patrick’s tongue flickering over his clit, the sight of his red lips working, is like nothing Jonny’s ever experienced. He gasps and spreads his legs wider, and Patrick hums against him. It’s—God, Jonny’s going to lose it.

He finds himself thinking that he has to last, and then he remembers that no, he doesn’t. This isn’t sex with a girl where he has to keep himself hard. He could get fucked even after he comes, and the thought makes him clench down hard.

Patrick must feel it, because he slips a finger inside Jonny and crooks it up. Jonny arches his back into it and feels the pleasure spill over, Pat’s tongue still working against him as he comes, and comes, and comes.

It’s as he’s settling down from it that he remembers what the internet told him, and freezes in horror.

There’s a long moment of panic before he concludes that it doesn’t seem to be happening. His breasts are still there, his dick still missing, body ludicrously small. He never thought those things would amount to relief, but at the moment, they do.

God. What was he thinking, coming home with Patrick? What if he had changed in the middle of Patrick’s bed? He clearly wasn’t thinking at all, and that alone is sort of horrifying.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Patrick scoots up the bed to lie next to him.

“Yeah,” Jonny says. “That was just…a lot.”

Something in Patrick’s face softens. He kisses Jonny again, and Jonny goes for it, because—Patrick’s face. Fuck. He is so screwed.

Patrick’s dick is hard against Jonny’s thigh. He lost his jeans at some point as well, and Jonny can feel the wetness as Patrick leaks precome on his skin.

“Getting me off really did it for you, huh?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick says, and Jonny gets a hand on him. It’s the first dick he’s touched other than his own, and it’s hot and thick. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and thrusts into his grip. Jonny feels the stirring of arousal reawakening in his stomach.

“Do you want…” Patrick asks.

“Condom?” Jonny says.

Patrick reaches over to get one out of the nightstand and rolls it on, and then—then he lines himself up over Jonny, arms on either side of Jonny’s head.

Jonny’s breath catches. Patrick’s so much bigger than Jonny right now. He loves it, is drowning in it: the muscled body above him, the weight of Patrick’s eyes pinning him down. The heavy cock hanging between his legs.

Patrick braces himself on one arm and gets his fingers in between the lips of Jonny’s pussy, just dipping slightly into the messy slickness there. “Yeah?”

Like there’s a question. “You’d better,” Jonny says, and Patrick’s eyes go hotter and he guides his dick in.

It’s—a lot thicker than his finger. Wow. Patrick’s not huge, but he’s big enough. There’s resistance right away, and Jonny expected that, but then there’s pain, which he didn’t expect. Kind of a lot of pain, actually.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Patrick says on a gasp.

“Yeah,” Jonny says, and he wants this _so much,_ but now that it’s happening he thinks the idea might be better than the reality, because _ow._

Some of this must come through in his face or in his voice, because Patrick freezes. “You okay?”

Fuck this new body for being a virgin. “Yeah. I just…haven’t done this a lot.”

“Oh God,” Patrick says. His eyes go wide. “I didn’t realize. I just assumed…”

Jonny winces and tries to make himself relax around Patrick’s girth. “You saying you thought I was a slut?”

He says it forgetting that he doesn’t have his own face on and that Pat won’t be able to read him like he normally does, and for a second Patrick does seem to take it seriously. Then he cracks up—just laughs and laughs, dick buried inside Jonny.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he says, and bends down to kiss Jonny’s mouth.

It’s so good, having Patrick’s mouth on his. Jonny’s starting to worried that he’ll get addicted—that he might already be addicted, given the way he surges up like he’s afraid Patrick might take it away. He lets himself get lost in the slick slide of tongue on tongue, in the softness of Patrick’s lips. Lets himself get distracted from the ache of Patrick’s cock in a space where it doesn’t quite fit. Distracted enough that he forgets and squeezes—and Patrick gasps and shoves in another inch or so.

And, okay, that doesn’t feel so bad.

“Sorry, sorry. Okay?” Patrick says, head hanging between his shoulder blades, panting.

“Almost,” Jonny says. The presence of Patrick’s cock is starting to feel more like a good fullness instead of an invasion. Starting to send some good signals to his nerves. “Maybe…try moving?”

Patrick slides out a little and shifts back in. He does it again, and _oh._

“Again,” Jonny says, and Patrick does, and yeah, now they’re getting somewhere.

Jonny starts rocking up into it, clenching down as Patrick thrusts in. Patrick groans and thrusts a little harder.

It’s still sort of a stretch, but arousal is taking over everything else now. “Can you, uh,” Jonny says, biting his lip, embarrassed about what he’s going to ask. “Can you maybe lie on top of me? Like, put more of your weight on me?”

“Course,” Patrick says, and shifts down so that his arms aren’t holding up his weight anymore.

The heaviness of his body on Jonny’s makes Jonny arch into it right away. He has the feeling Patrick is still keeping a bit of his weight up—Jonny is pretty pathetically small right now, after all—but the sensation of being covered and surrounded makes everything else better. The motion of Patrick’s cock inside of him has become one slick slide of pleasure, his hips rolling and sending sparks up to Jonny’s brain. Jonny seizes onto his mouth and licks inside again.

“Not going to last,” Patrick mumbles against his tongue. “Touch yourself?”

Jonny gets a hand in between their bodies and presses down on his clit and wow, he thought it was good before, but this is taking the top of his head off. “Yeah, faster,” he mumbles into Patrick’s cheek, and Patrick’s hips get faster and stuttery and he throws his head back and comes, buried inside Jonny and pulsing hot. Jonny rocks up and digs his fingers into his clit a few times and follows.

Basking in the afterglow with Patrick on top of him is pretty perfect. Patrick tries to get up and pull out, probably so he doesn’t crush Jonny, but Jonny tightens his arms around him and holds on.

Patrick turns his head and presses a kiss just under Jonny’s ear. “That was pretty amazing,” he says.

“Mmmm,” Jonny says, because that’s all the words he has just now. He should probably let Patrick move away, but…he hasn’t gotten over the feeling of being covered yet.

They do eventually separate, and Patrick throws out the condom. He cleans Jonny off with a tissue, which wouldn’t be enough if there were spunk involved, but Jonny’s mess is a little more contained. Then Patrick lies back down, chest bare and inviting. Jonny goes to snuggle into it and stops short.

This wasn’t sex between two people who know each other. Jonny keeps finding that hard to remember, because he knows Patrick so, _so_ well. but as far as Patrick is concerned, he just had sex with a stranger. He maybe doesn’t want that stranger cozying up to him after they’ve both come.

The thought makes his stomach drop. But Patrick opens his arms and looks at him. “Stay?” he asks, a little hesitant, and Jonny moves closer and buries his face in Patrick’s skin.

It’s not enough. But maybe it’s enough for tonight.

***

He wakes up in the morning, still a girl.

That’s the first thing he notices. The second thing is that Patrick is still wrapped around him.

Jonny bites his tongue against a pulse of—sorrow? Regret doesn’t feel like the right word; he wouldn’t take back what happened. But…but he does regret that it can never happen again.

Well. Maybe since he’s still a fucking girl.

He feels a wave of fear. This was the internet’s best suggestion, and it didn’t work. He doesn’t even know what to try next. What if he never…

Patrick wakes up a little then, shifting his head against Jonny’s hair and making little sleep noises. It’s horrifically endearing.

“Hi,” Jonny says.

“Mm.” Patrick shifts against Jonny, and Jonny can feel his morning wood against his leg. He’s still caught up in fear, mostly, but the feeling of a hard cock pressing against him sends a zing of arousal through his gut.

Well—if this is the last time. Might as well get everything he can out of it.

He rolls his hips against Patrick’s, and Patrick’s hands go to his ass. Jonny can feel himself getting wet again as Patrick kneads the flesh there.

“I have to go soon,” Patrick mumbles into his hair.

Jonny has to stop himself from saying, “I know,” because they have morning skate. Which Jonny will once again be missing. Instead he says, “How soon?”

“Not that soon,” Patrick says, and leans down to kiss him.

It’s slow, at first: all sleep-heavy, warm in a soft, morning way. They’re rocking slowly but surely against each other, lots of pressure but no urgency. The urgency builds, though. Patrick presses his fingers between Jonny’s legs and Jonny finds himself pushing against them and making these little high-pitched noises.

“Want to be inside you again,” Patrick says against his mouth.

Jonny gasps out his, “Yeah.”

This time it’s a lot easier for Patrick’s cock to enter him. Jonny feels all stretched open from the night before, and it’s still a tight fit, but the soreness isn’t the same as the pain was before. Instead it’s delicious friction right away, and Patrick makes his punched-out sound that has Jonny clenching and surging up around him.

“God, I don’t know why this is so amazing,” Patrick says through clenched teeth as he thrusts in.

“I know,” Jonny says, meaning that he doesn’t, either. Well—he does know why it’s so amazing for him. But why the two of them fit so well together like this, that he doesn’t know, except in so far as it’s probably some cruel joke of the universe. Letting him have this just to take it away again.

Hard to care, though, with Patrick’s cock thrusting into him. Patrick gets a hand on one of his breasts and pinches the nipple, and Jonny’s mouth falls open on an _oh._ He put his hand to his own clit and feels the urgency build in time with their gasping breath.

“Fuck, Patrick,” he says. “I can’t—”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. His head falls down and his thrusts get ragged. “God, you’re just—God— _Jonny—”_

Jonny freezes, and then Patrick comes, swelling inside of him and shooting into the condom.

Patrick collapses on him for the moment after. A second later, he scrambles up with wide eyes. “Fuck,” he says, pulling out. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jonny says. His mind is reeling.

“It’s just, you remind me of someone, and I...” Patrick looks frantic, skims his eyes over Jonny’s body. “God. You didn’t even…here, let me, sorry.”

He gets his fingers in between Jonny’s legs, and the pressure is a shock of goodness despite Patrick’s obvious panic.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Patrick babbles. “Is this…is this still good?”

Jonny pushes up into Patrick’s hand. “Tell me,” he says on a gasp. “Tell me about him.”

Patrick’s hand stops for a moment. “It’s just…someone I can’t have.” He starts moving again, crooking his fingers and pushing two of them inside while keeping his thumb on Jonny’s clit. “I shouldn’t have put that on you. I didn’t know that I would, it’s just that I’ve been trying so hard to—fuck.”

Jonny moans and rocks up harder. God, the words that Patrick is throwing at him.

“I guess I’m pretty messed up, huh?” Patrick says, mouth buried in the skin of Jonny’s shoulder.

“No.” Jonny’s hand goes to Patrick’s face, pressing blindly to his cheek while arching into the pressure. “No, Pat, no, you’re— _Pat.”_

“That’s what he calls me sometimes,” Patrick says in a small voice, and Jonny closes his eyes and pulls Patrick’s mouth down to his and comes.

It feels different than his previous orgasms. It seems to go on longer, his body twisting, and it’s—heavier, somehow? Deeper? It finally lessens, and he opens his eyes, droopy with afterglow, to see Patrick looking at him in horror.

“What,” Patrick says, “the fuck.”

“Um,” Jonny says, and then freezes because that’s not what his voice has sounded like for the past twenty-four hours and _oh God._

“What the _fuck,”_ Patrick says again, and scrambles backwards.

Jonny grabs for the sheet and covers himself up. “I…can explain?”

“Like fuck you can,” Patrick says. “What are you doing here? What was…who was…”

Jonny closes his eyes. He’s doing this, then. “So. I might have sort of….woken up as a girl yesterday?”

There’s silence in the room. Then the sound of Patrick moving, sliding off the bed. Jonny opens his eyes just in time to see Patrick walk out the door and shut it behind him.

***

He finds Patrick in the kitchen, wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. “That was a shitty thing to do,” Patrick says as soon as Jonny walks in, his voice a little unsteady.

“I know,” Jonny says.

“Really fucking shitty.” Patrick’s turned away from him, stabbing at the coffee maker.

“I wasn’t going to,” Jonny says. He’s wearing a pair of Patrick’s boxer-briefs, and they’re uncomfortably small on him. “I didn’t think you’d be at the club.”

Patrick doesn’t turn to look at him, just keeps poking viciously at the machine. “So you just, what, turned into a girl and decided to celebrate with a night on the town?”

“No.” Jonny shifts. “It was…um. The gender reversal thing. Apparently you can fix it with sex.”

That makes Patrick stop jabbing at the machine. He turns around. “So you just had sex with me as a way to turn back?”

“No!” Jonny really wishes he had more clothes on. “God, if I’d been thinking at all, I never would have come home with you.”

“Oh, great to hear,” Patrick says, voice rising. “Thanks, I feel fantastic now.”

“No, not like that, I just—”

“No, I get it, I’m a terrible choice,” Pat says. He crosses his arms over his chest, hugging himself. “Why did you even bother?”

“Because I couldn’t resist!” Jonny shouts. “Because you put your hands on me, and I…fuck.”

He slumps against the refrigerator behind him. He doesn’t want to look at Patrick, but Patrick’s being really suspiciously quiet, so finally he makes himself do it.

Patrick is staring at him. The expression on his face is some mix of hope and fear, with lots of blinking. “Jonny?” he says, quietly.

“I…love you, okay?” Jonny says. “And I didn’t think I could tell you. But I wanted…you. Yeah. Sorry.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything. He just walks across the kitchen, slow, almost trancelike, and when he reaches Jonny he pulls his head down and kisses him.

Jonny steps closer and puts his arms around him right away. It’s different like this, with Pat smaller than he is, but his body in Jonny’s arms is still solid and muscled and amazing. Their mouths melt into each other, and Pat makes these little noises that Jonny thinks are probably a lot like the ones he can feel in his own throat.

“You idiot,” Patrick breathes against his lips when they break for air. “I’ve been in love with you for _six fucking years.”_

Jonny noses against his cheek. “Not seven?”

“You took a while to grow on me,” Patrick says, and tilts his head again to slide his mouth against Jonny’s. 

This time they get their hips together, thighs slotting into place, and Jonny gets to feel for the first time what it’s like to have Patrick rubbing against his cock. They’re both panting for breath by the time Jonny pulls away. “One thing,” he says, “if we’re really doing this.”

“What?” Pat looks alarmed.

Jonny puts his mouth against Pat’s temple and breathes on the skin. “You are never buying that fucking drink for me ever again.”

Patrick laughs, bright, relieved, and pushes up against Jonny’s cock. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> With a hat tip to _Clueless_ for Patrick's line in the bar.
> 
> I just got a [tumblr](http://linskywords.tumblr.com/); I don't really know what I'm doing there, but come be my friend!


End file.
